Hat Trick
by DyanaRoseJill
Summary: Jefferson hated Wonderland. (formerly called "Madness")
1. Chapter 1

"Take him to the queen."

The voice came from far away. It barely registered when his arms were seized. He couldn't take his eyes off the spot where Regina had vanished; where the portal had closed.

Jefferson came back to himself when they entered the palace courtyard. "I can walk," he muttered, digging his heels down into the ground. Much to his surprise, the two guards released their hold on his arms. He straightened his coat and walked willingly along with them. He could still feel their hands on the back of his arms, but since he showed no sign of putting up a fight, the pressure was light. He certainly had no intention of putting up a fight.

The portal-jumper tried to avoid looking around too much as they entered the castle. One never really got used to Wonderland, and he knew that he could not trust his senses here. Doors of all sizes lined the walls. A piano floated somewhere near the ceiling. Eyes peeked out at him from the elaborately painted walls. He hated Wonderland.

The Queen of Hearts was outside, with her court. A long narrow bridge led towards the courtier-lined square. Jefferson made the mistake of peering over the side, down into a dizzying canyon, paneled like a giant chess board. The Queen, swathed with veils as usual, sat on her throne under a lacy canopy. An important looking official stood by her side.

Jefferson stood at the edge of the square, flanked by the guards. He glanced about, but only saw masked faces, regarding him expressionlessly. He swallowed uncomfortably. The sound of mumbling returned his attention to the Queen, who was whispering through a speaking tube. The official nodded and turned to Jefferson.

"Her majesty says she knows you're responsible for helping to steal from her."

Jefferson held back a sigh. "The queen. She tricked-"

A gasp ran through the crowd at that.

"That woman's name is Regina!" the official snapped. "There is only one queen." He bowed to the woman on his left. "The queen of hearts."

"Yes of course," Jefferson inclined his head slightly, "My apologies."

The Queen of Hearts murmured something to the man, who repeated it for all to hear: "Her majesty wishes to know how you got to this world. How did you come to Wonderland?"

Here, he hesitated, just for a moment. Wonderland was a strange place, that was true, it had it's on peculiar rules, but... perhaps... someone in this realm had the power to open a portal back to the Enchanted Forest.

"If I tell you..." he said slowly, "Will you let me go home to my daughter?"

The official chuckled. The poor fool thought he could bargain with the Queen?

"Off with his head."

The first words that the Red Queen had spoken clearly were the words that Jefferson least wanted to hear. He wasn't sure at first that she had said what he thought she said. Surely knowing how he had gotten into Wonderland was important enough that she'd want the answer more than his head. Surely...

A man, dressed all in black, carrying the largest ax that Jefferson had ever seen stepped out of the crowd and walked towards him purposefully.

"No," he whispered desperately.

The executioner raised the ax and Jefferson squeezed his eyes shut.

_I'm sorry Grace. I am so sorry. So very sorry-_

Someone was pulling his hair. That was not exactly what he had expected death to feel like. Not that he'd spent a lot of time thinking about it, but Jefferson just sort of assumed that having ones head cut off would hurt in the general neck area, if it hurt at all. He slowly opened his eyes to see the executioner standing there. The man gave a nod and turned and walked away.

"I... I'm alive?" he breathed out. No. Something wasn't right. He couldn't move, except for his eyes, which darted about frantically.

To see himself. Or at least, most of himself, lying on the ground. Headless. Jefferson would have been sick, if he had anything left to be sick with. This made no sense! His head was most certainly not attached to his body. But he wasn't dead. He hated Wonderland.

"If you wish your body back, then answer," the official said firmly, "How did you get here?"

"The hat!" the words tumbled out involuntarily, "My hat... we... we used my hat!"

"And where is the hat now?"

"She took it... Regina... she took it."

The Queen of Hearts regarded him. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he could just feel her eyes from behind the veil boring into him. She whispered something to her companion, who nodded and spoke again:

"Well then, if all you require to travel to your homeland is this magic hat, then surely you can make another."

Jefferson's head blinked. "I can't." he whispered, "A hat without magic is just a hat. It won't work."

"Then there's your task. Get it to work." the man said, "And then you can go home."

Jefferson's head blinked stupidly. Get a hat to work? How was he supposed to make a hat like this? Much less a magic hat! The first one had been an accident, he'd never been able to reproduce it.

Especially not like this.

"Wh-what are you doing with my- with me?" he gasped suddenly. While he had been caught up in his panicked thoughts, two of the guards had lifted his headless body and were carrying it away.

"You answered," the man replied, "And so, you may have your body back. Get him stitched up."

If he thought dangling by his hair was bad, dangling by his hair while being carried across a narrow bridge above a dizzying chessboard canyon was worse. The (head of the former) portal-jumper had to squeeze his eyes tightly shut. He hated Wonderland.


	2. Chapter 2

The threat of being gagged kept him silent. The guards were frustratingly unresponsive to his questions. It was unnerving to watch his headless body being dragged along in front of him. He cringed as his feet banged against the ground. At least he couldn't feel it. Jefferson never would have expected to be able to find an upside to being decapitated, but apparently his head couldn't feel any pain from his body.

He was taken into a surprisingly cheerful looking room. The large windows sparkled, letting in a great deal of sunlight. His body was deposited unceremoniously on a long white table.

"Right side up, if you please," a male voice admonished the guards, "You ought to know better by now."

As Jefferson's body was flipped over to lay on its back, the speaker came into view. He was a short bald man with a few remaining strands of silver hair. Jefferson's eyes followed the new arrival nervously.

"What do we have here?" the new man asked.

"A thief," the guard holding Jefferson's head responded, shaking the head slightly to emphasis his point. Jefferson gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as his world was set spinning again. "'E's ta be locked up after you're done with 'im."

"Alright," the bald man agreed readily enough, "Set him down."

Jefferson involuntarily let out a sigh when the pressure on his hair abruptly released. He opened his eyes again to find himself positioned a bit lower. He was level with the table that his body was resting on.

"This won't take long," the bald man said to Jefferson's head.

"What are you going to do to me?" he demanded.

"I'm going to put you back together," he replied, opening a bottle and wetting a cloth with the contents. Jefferson's nose wrinkled as he recognized the scent. His eyes widened as the man approached.

"No..." he whispered.

"Oh trust me," the bald man said, "You don't want to be awake for this." He covered Jefferson's nose and mouth with the cloth, and the sweet smell of chloroform filled his head.

Jefferson's head was pounding. He was laying on a hard surface. His hand went to his head as he forced his eyes open. Fortunately for his poor head, the room was dark. He pushed himself up into a seated position. Some vague memory of being on a white table pushed its way to the surface.

Thinking back on it later, he realized that he probably should have noticed that his head was attached to his body again sooner than he did. He blinked and stared stupidly around the room.

"Welcome back," came a voice.

He looked up, blinking a few times at the bald man.

"Here," the man brought him a cup, "You should drink this."

He regarded the cup suspiciously.

"It's just green tea," the man said, "I promise."

Jefferson took it, and sniffed it, then cautiously sipped the tea. The man had been telling the truth.

"Drink it slowly," the man advised, "You have to get used to being together again."

"Back... together..." he repeated, reaching up and rubbing his neck. He flinched at the unfamiliar rough feeling on his neck. "What?"

"The stitches will take a little while to heal," he nodded, "In the meantime, don't worry at them. You don't want any more scarring than there will be." He gave Jefferson a smile, "And you don't want them coming undone."

"Stitches," he repeated.

Stitches. Holding his head back on. His head had been cut off. Cut off. By the Queen of Hearts. His hands shook slightly and he had to put the cup down. His stomach lurched.

"Hey, easy now," the bald man set a hand on his shoulder, "I know that it's a bit of a shock, but you're alright." He smiled, "In fact, you're a bit lucky."

"Lucky?" Jefferson repeated incredulously, "How am I lucky?"

"Well, somebody's always on staff, just in case the Queen feels like beheading someone," he replied, "So there always needs to be a Stitcher handy. I'm the most experienced."

The portal-jumper really had no idea how to respond to that one, so he didn't.

"Ready to stand?" the man asked.

Jefferson nodded. He braced his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. He only swayed a little. Under the careful supervision of the Stitcher, he took a few hesitant steps forward. After walking the length of the room, he let out a relieved sigh. "I'm alright," he breathed.

"Of course you are," the Stitcher said with a nod.

"Thank you," he said softly.

The door opened and the sound of heavy boots made Jefferson look up. He involuntarily took a step backwards away from the four guards that had entered.

"The Queen commands that you come with us," one of the guards said, "If you will not come willingly, we will have to use force."

Jefferson slowly held up his hands, palms up, and walked towards the guards. "She told me that I can go home-"

"Once you make a new hat," the guard finished, "Come."

The room he was given was a the top of a tower. There were big windows, giving him plenty of natural light. A small cot was tucked in a corner. A huge work bench dominated the center of the room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with bolts of fabric, spools of thread and ribbon. Everything that one needed to make hats.

"Do not leave this room alone," the guard warned him, "You'll have food and water."

"And after I get my hat to work?" he asked.

"Then, as the Queen commanded, you should use your hat to return to where you came from."

Jefferson nodded. "I just have to get it to work."


	3. Chapter 3

Jefferson set his newest hat down on the bench and looked it over critically. The first twenty hats that he had made had all been top hats, like his old one. The first fifteen had used the same dark purple ribbon, but he had run out. The other five had been a variety of colors. None of them had worked. Abandoning top hats, he had tried making some bowler hats. Now twelve discarded derbies sat on the shelves with the top hats.  
All failures.

Maybe, he reasoned, he was going about this the wrong way. He only needed it to work once. He only needed to open one portal. One portal to take him home. To take him back to his daughter. His Grace.

Thinking of her, he had started making smaller hats. A delicate cloche of lavender. Another one in pink. A third in blue. A straw hat trimmed with a black ribbon. All things his daughter would like.

All failures.

At first, it had taken him a full day to make each hat. Slowly, he had improved on his time.

He slept when it was too dark to see. The lighting in the tower room was good, but he wasn't given much in the way of candles or lanterns.  
Sometimes, the guards brought him food and water. Sometimes he would remember to eat it.

Jefferson stood up and set the newest hat (a delicate little blue bell-hat) down on the floor.  
"Work..." he whispered, "Take me home."  
He spun it lightly.

The hat turned around twice and nothing happened.

Failure.

Again.

With a frustrated growl, Jefferson picked up the hat and threw it across the room.

Just as he threw the hat, the door opened. The guard on the other side, holding a pitcher of fresh water, ducked as the hat went sailing towards his head. It bounced off the door frame and flew back towards Jefferson's cot.

"Careful hatter," the guard grumbled, "You nearly took my head off."

"I'm sorry," Jefferson replied automatically. He went over to pick up the offending hat.

The guard (a new one, as far as Jefferson could tell) set the water pitcher down and looked around the room. The portal-jumper-turned-hatter watched the man warily. The guards never stayed. They never talked to him.

The guard let out a low whistle and picked up one of the nearest hats. It was the first one that Jefferson had made with Grace in mind. When he finally got home again, he was going to take that one with him. She probably would like that one, and-

The guard was talking to him.

"Pardon?"

"I said, 'and you call yourself a hatter?'," the guard repeated, sounding annoyed, "These are terrible."

Jefferson blinked, "Excuse me?"

"Not at all fashionable," he said, shaking his head, "All this time you've spent up here, and none of these are fit for anyone."

"Hey now..." Jefferson said softly, "Maybe they aren't Wonderland hats, but they aren't that bad."

"They're horrible!" and to punctuate the comment, he put his fist through the top of the hat.

"Hey!"

"What?" the guard smirked, dropping the ruined hat to the ground, "It's not like you need any of these."

He wasn't thinking at all really. With a growl, he rushed at the guard and landed a right hook neatly across the man's face. The guard struggled with him. Jefferson managed another good punch before he was shoved to the ground. He scrambled to his feet quickly. The guard reached into his pocket and uncurled his fingers. Before Jefferson could react, the guard blew a fine powder into his face.

He coughed. "Wh-what are you doing?" he wheezed.

"Just take a deep breath," the guard advised.

He staggered backwards, bumping into the cot. The world spun oddly.

"What?..."

"it's a little something of the Queen's," the guard smirked, "For calming down mad people. Like you."

"I am... not... mad..." he struggled to keep his eyes open.

The guard chuckled and left the room, closing the door behind him with a loud clang.

***  
Jefferson could tell that he had been asleep for several hours. The sun (the far, far too bright sun) and moved further across the sky. He shifted slightly and fell off the cot onto the ground with a thud and a groan. He had collapsed half on and half off the low bed. He put a hand to his head to try and quiet the drum corps that had decided to take up residence there.

What had happened? Where was he?

Wonderland. Tower. Hats. Guard.  
Right.

Jefferson pulled himself into a seated position and leaned back against the wall (the nicely solid wall) and closed his eyes.

The door thundered open and he held back a whimper, resisting the urge to cover his ears.

"Get up!" a male voice commanded.

Jefferson blinked stupidly at the guard. When he didn't move fast enough, he was hauled to his feet. The two guards flanked him and marched him out of the tower.

"What's going on?"

"The Queen wants to see you," he was answered.

Jefferson's eyes widened. "What? Now? Why?"

"Come on Hatter," was the only answer.

"I have a name," he muttered as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

He was taken to a new room. Thankfully, it wasn't decorated in the same dizzying chessboard pattern as the rest of the palace. But the entire room was red. Red walls, red drapes, red floor. The Queen, still in red, sat on a comfortable looking chair, with her ever-present-official who served as her voice.

"The queen wishes to know if you tire of her hospitality," the Voice of the queen addressed Jefferson.

He blinked, "What? No."

"And if she has been kind to you," the voice continued, "If you have ever lacked for anything."

Jefferson bowed his head, closing his eyes tight at the moment. "No, your majesty, you have been very kind."

"Kinder than you deserve," a guard muttered from behind Jefferson.

"Kinder than I deserve," Jefferson echoed.

The Queen of Hearts whispered something to the Voice, who nodded and looked to Jefferson.

"Then answer this. Why did you strike one of the royal guards?"

"I am truly sorry," he didn't look up, "I was not myself." He hazarded a glance upwards, "I was... tired... and frustrated. My hat making has... not been going well."

"Then perhaps you need more rest," the Voice said. He paused to listen to the Queen a moment. "Yes, that is a very good idea. Guards. Take him somewhere where he can get some rest."

"What?" Jefferson blinked as the guards seized his arms.

"You obviously cannot rest in the tower," the Voice replied, "You need somewhere quiet... without any distractions."

***

"Ow," Jefferson groaned when he hit the stone floor of the cell he was thrown into. Ignoring his (still) pounding head, he scrambled to his feet and took two steps towards the door. He flinched when it clanged shut in his face.

"The Queen commands that you remain here until you are well rested," the guard told him.

Left alone, Jefferson took stock of his surroundings. The cell was tiny, with one high barred window. It was also completely empty. He sank down to the ground, leaning his head back against the hard stone.  
He closed his eyes.

He was never going to get home at this rate.

He hated Wonderland.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch 4

Guarding the Mad Hatter was considered light duty now. New recruits were given the task to get their feet wet. The Queen of Hearts no longer particularly cared about him, content with weekly reports.

"Is he really mad?" the young man asked the veteran who was standing guard with him.

"Have you ever been in there?" the other guard responded with a smirk, "One look at him would answer that question."

"But he's not dangerous?"

The older guard shook his head, "Not as long as you leave his precious hats alone."

"Why does he do that?" the younger guard questioned, "You know... all the hats."

"Poor soul," he shook his head slightly, "The fool tried to steal from the Queen."

"So she sentenced him to make... hats?"

"To make a magical hat that opens a portal to other realms," he nodded, "If the Hatter ever succeeds, we're supposed to report it to the Queen."

"A magical hat that opens a portal to other realms," the younger man dead-panned, "Of course."

"Well, he believes that he can do it."

"does the Queen?"

"I really doubt it," he replied, "Otherwise, she would have simply taken his head and been done with it."

"How long has he been here?"

"Six years."

*~*~*~*

The guard who had drawn the short straw wrinkled his nose as he stepped into the madman's domain. Even after all this time, after years without an incident, the servants still refused to set foot in the tower room. But, per standing orders of the Queen, someone had to bring the madman food and water every day.  
This man – one Tristan – felt that it was a waste. Half the time, the food was untouched. But at least the madman was good enough to leave the dishes by the door.

Normally, the guards just collected the empty dishes and left the new ones. It was difficult, sometimes, to find the madman amongst all of his hats. Tristan almost wondered if anyone would notice if the man suffocated under a large pile of hats. He had never actually seen the man though.

With a sigh, Tristan turned the key in the door (they left it in the lock now. The mad hatter never tried to escape) and pushed the door open. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a figure standing near one of the piles.

"... all too small... the feathers gave too much drag... that's why it never worked before... even if they aren't at the-"

The man was dressed in a many-patched coat. His brown hair stood up in all directions and he had no less than three hats balanced on his head. There was a desperate-half-mad look in his dark eyes. The circles under indicated that he hadn't slept in days. Tristan's eyes, though, were drawn to the wicked looking pair of scissors that the Hatter was holding.

"May I help you?"

The madman spoke in a surprisingly sane voice. He seemed to light up when he saw the bowl that the guard was holding. "Oh good," he practically beamed. To Tristan's relief, the Hatter set the scissors down on the nearest surface before approaching the guard, "Carrot soup today. I like carrots." He took the bowl from Tristan's hand before the guard could react. To his immense relief, the Hatter vanished with the bowl somewhere back behind a pile of hats.

"He does that sometimes," the other guard said from behind the door, "I think that he thinks it's funny to pretend to be sane."

"You might have warned me," Tristan muttered, gathering up the empty bowl and exiting the tower.

Jefferson heard the door close. Pretending to be sane? He was sane. He was pretending to be mad. One day, he would make a hat that would work. One day he would go home.  
He stirred at the soup. Carrot soup. That meant today was Tuesday. He'd lost track again.

"You always said I was scatter brained," he murmured to one of the hats, "But I know what day of the week it is, Grace. I know. I won't forget... I can't forget."

Thunder rumbled in the distance and he looked up. Making hats wasn't the only thing he did. The windows in his tower always gave a clear view of the sky, so he watched the stars and the clouds. It had been a clear day, not a scent of rain. He made his way over to the window and looked out.

Jefferson reflexively jumped back from the window at the next crack of red lighting. Red lighting. Even in Wonderland, that was not normal. He backed into one of his carefully arranged piles of hats, knocking them over. He tried to steady them, but another almighty thunder clap shook the room. It wasn't his imagination. The whole room – the whole tower was shaking!

And then there was nothing but hats. Falling hats.

Jefferson curled up on the ground, covering his head and neck and waited for the avalanche to stop.

*~*~*~*~*  
Another nightmare. That's all that it was. A bad one this time. Something about hats.  
Some sort of infernal ringing had woken him up.  
Jefferson untangled himself and managed to get unsteadily to his feet. He had dozed off in his office. Well, that was why he'd bought that couch in the first place, wasn't it?  
Granted, he didn't have that much to do with the company anymore, his vice president Dodgeson handled most of the day to day operations, so really all that Jefferson needed to do was occasionally sign off on some decision or another.  
Every since his wife had died, he had lost interest in almost everything.

Wait.

Stop.

Jefferson rubbed his eyes and looked around the unfamiliar room. The oriental carpet accented the handsome dark cherry-wood desk and table. This was not the tower, and it was certainly not his cottage. And what was that sound?

He shook his head slightly. He didn't have time for any of this, he had to get back to his hats. He had to get back to his Grace, to his daughter, to-

After his second mental breakdown, even he had agreed with the judge, and the school, and child protective services. He could not take care of Paige. But her foster parents were taking very good care of her, and he had contented himself with making donations to her school.

Jefferson steadied himself on the desk as that loud ringing sound boomed through the room again.

The doorbell.

It was Tuesday. Three o'clock. Doctor Hopper always came to see him Tuesdays at three o'clock.

After a few more rings, Archie just left himself in. Jefferson had given him a key. He found the man kneeling on the ground in his office, holding his head in his hands.

"Jefferson!" he rushed over to the other man, kneeling down next to him, "what's wrong?"

"My head," Jefferson moaned to the not-stranger, "This... this isn't right... where am I? What's going on?"

"You are home," Archie assured him, "You're in your office. Safe and sound."

"Doctor Hopper..." Jefferson breathed, looking at the familiar man. He took the man's offered hand, getting back to his feet. This not-stranger was just looking out for him. He was a doctor. His doctor. Jefferson stood there, trying to make sense of, well, anything, as he watched Doctor Hopper open a desk drawer and take something out. The doctor sighed. He was upset about something. Jefferson strained his mind, but couldn't imagine what it could be. Then again, why should he know?

"You haven't been taking your medication," Archie sighed, "You'll end up back in the hospital at this rate."

Medication? Hospital? "I-" was all that Jefferson managed.

"I don't want to see you have another relapse," Archie said gently, "Not after we've made such progress."

Every instinct that Jefferson had was suddenly screaming at him to trust this man. He was a friend. "I don't want that," he agreed softly.

"Good," Archie agreed, holding out a bottle of water and two small blue pills, "Now, take these. They will help."

*~*~*~*~*

Jefferson March had been the founder and owner of a successful line of clothing. Among other things, they made hats. He thought that was funny. Regina had a wicked sense of humor. His wife had died six years ago (True!) and he hadn't been able to handle it. (Sort of true). He had had a complete mental break down (debatable, if one considered a change of heart a mental break down) and had been declared an unfit guardian for his daughter Paige (Grace! Her name is Grace!). She barely remembered him now.

Regina had come to see him once. She had brought most of the Enchanted Forest to this god-forsaken-place in an overly-elaborate plot to get revenge on her step-daughter, Snow White. As a 'reward' for helping her get her father back from the Queen of Hearts, she had gifted him with this lovely (empty) house.

The blue pills made him forget, for awhile.

But he couldn't forget.

He still made hats. Not as obsessively, but he still made hats.

Someday... he would get it to work.


End file.
